Damaged
by johnlockandtivainthetardis
Summary: Post-Reichenbach Sherlock has been away for three years (John has not met Mary at all) and hides behind a tree whenever John is at his gravestone. When John says some horrific things, Sherlock decides to reveal he is still alive. (Based off of a roleplay) WARNING: LOTS OF FEELS! Also, some later chaps. have NSFW content. Will warn at top of those chaps. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
1. Chapter 1

The graveyard that he was allegedly buried in was rather small and private the graves stood still as the wind blew lightly against them. Sherlock's marker was alone; it had no others around it except for a giant white oak tree that was behind it to the left. The tree's canopy shadowed the grave that stood alone in the grass. The man who was supposed to be buried was standing behind the tree waiting. Sherlock knew John came to his grave at least three times a week, every week, for the last few months. And every time he was there, Sherlock made sure he was too; it was the least he could do after leaving John, the hardest most painful thing that he had ever done. Left his blogger to a pit of self misery and loathing. It broke his heart every time he heard John talk to his grave, and as John silently cried, he did too. With his back pressed against the hard tree he took slow breathe to calm himself, today was the day they would hopefully be reunited as they always should be, together at last.

John walked over to the secluded gravestone that sat near the edge of the forest. "Hey it's me again. I saw Molly today. We talked a lot about you. She told me Lestrade's not doing so well on his cases without you." He smirks. "But I'm sure Donovan and Anderson don't miss you...but I do. I...I..." he walks over the gravestone, touches it with his hand, and then buries his head in his hands. He is crying. "I miss you so much. You know I've even thought about doing it. I would do it so I could join you on the other side. So that you wouldn't have to lie alone." He points to an empty patch of grass. "I have my spot picked out. Right there. I would be right there next to you." He whispers softly, but audibly enough so Sherlock could hear him. "I love you."

Sherlock held back a choked sob; John was far worse then he thought. That was the first time he had said that...he wanted to join him. Sherlock leaned heavily on the tree trying not to just run out and hold him. However, that was impossible since John's profession of love and almost suicide has left him still and numb.

John continued sadly. "I just thought you should know. I don't know when I'm going to do it. I'm just so confused...why...why did you have to do it? If only you could see me now..."

Sherlock wanted to scream to John that he was here, not even ten feet away from him. He wanted to run to him tell him he missed him that he needs him. That he's so sorry. That he loves him that he is his best friend. He silently moves to the other side of the tree peering around it to see John breaking down once again but this time worse. His breathing picks up heart hamming along with his nerves.

"I'm lost without my consulting detective. I have nothing and no one to live for anymore." He tries to choke back the tears, but fails as they continue to stream down his face onto the gravestone. He places a beautiful bouquet of flowers in front of the gravestone. He stands and partially collects himself. "Just a token that you will thank me for soon. This will probably be the last time we meet like this. I'm coming for you. Nothing will stop me now." He wipes away another tear that fell and turns to leave. "I will see you soon, my love."

Sherlock watched John walk slowly away, leaving him. He wants to wait, he is not ready for this yet, but he knows if he doesn't go after John now, he will never see him again. With all his courage he stealthfully walks behind him, his palms sweating, his throat dry and his lips cracking. Once he is behind John five feet or so, he stops and takes a quite deep breath. The wind stands still no longer blowing Sherlock's heartbeat ceases as well his blood pounding in his ears. He is finally able to swallow and after wards parts his cupid lips to call out for John. His John. He hesitates; he could just walk away and John would never know, but that would be wrong. Leaving John was enough wrong for a lifetime. His voice sounds inhuman to him as if it is not his own as he softly says "John."

_I recognize that voice_, John thought. He turned around slowly. "Who is tha...oh my GOD!" He started sobbing where he was standing. He ran to Sherlock, jumped up, and wrapped his arms around his neck in embrace. "Am I seeing things again? Don't tell me you're some stranger. Oh god I _am_ doing it again!"

Sherlock almost fell back onto the ground with John's force, but he stood strong for him and held him up so that he wouldn't touch the ground. Sherlock held him close savoring this moment of holding John in his arms. The warmth that flooded though him pulled at his chest with such force that he was breathless with emotion. He hadn't cried the way John had yet, but he knew he was going too soon and he was glad that John would be with him. A silent foreshadowing tear slid down his cheek as he croaked out the words, "I'm real." His throat protested, but his heart was screaming it. "I am here for you John," he said, encasing the hysterically sobbing John in his trench coat.

"Oh...god! I thought I would never see you again. I was planning on killing myself. Do you see what a wreck I am?"

Sherlock set him on the ground gently, but still held him close not ever wanting to be apart from him again. His eyes were teary and wet making them glisten in the sunlight and his eyelashes thick and heavy. "I-I am so sorry John," he choked out hoarsely.

John squeezed him harder. "I know. But why? You know that I am terribly sentimental. Didn't you figure I would be like this?"

Sherlock looked down into his face that close up broke his remaining shattered one. John's face was etched with pain and sorrow, the fine lines of despondency visible. Dark circles under his beautiful John's eyes making him look morbid. "No, I-I didn't plan that you would be this upset. I did not think I was that important to you at the time," he answered remorsefully.

"You couldn't deduce that I was in love with you? I thought you would have figured it out by then. I guess I wasn't being outward enough about it."

Sherlock hung his head; he was such a terrible person to do this to kind caring John. He wasn't worthy of John's affections he never would be. He broke his best friend the man who loved him somehow or other. Sherlock pulled back out of the embrace and turned to face the oak tree again, looking off over the hill. The clouds were swirling together in the red sunset. He felt his throat closing suddenly making it difficult to breathe. He was shivering violently as his break down was about to hit him with full force. He was angry that he was having one he did not deserve to cry like John had. Not after what he did to the other the one he irrationally loved. At that his eyes began to tear up making the red sky into pink as the clouds and sun mixed together. The tears flowed evenly down his face hitting the ground with soft thumps of sorrow and pain. He couldn't move or breathe causing him to take deep uneven ragged breathes of the cool crisp air. Soft cries aroused from his throat as he thought of John over the past months and all the pain he put him through. John, how could he do this to sweet innocent John? He whimpered the said man's name out in anguish as he trembled and swayed from his frozen place.

"Sherlock..." John wrapped his arms around the tall, thin man whom he deeply loved, hoping to calm him. "I am not that mad. I'm sure that what you did had good intention. Please stop crying. My detective does not cry."

The soft gentle touch was more than enough to set him off. He didn't deserve comfort from anyone let alone John. He didn't want to lean on John for support; he was never there for John's breakdowns so John shouldn't be there for his. However, his body was going to fall to the ground if as he put nearly all his weight on John. He was in hysterics now, mumbling apologies and random nonsense things now. His brain had completely shut off only going in turmoil off all the pain he put John though all the things John had said at the grave replaying in his mind vividly.

"Shhh..." John was being as sincere and kind as he possibly could. "I'm just happy to see you alive, love." He put a hand on Sherlock's cheek and with his thumb wiped away some warm tears off of Sherlock's face. "I'm happy we can see each other again. That I can go to sleep and know that you'll be there in the morning when I wake up." John looked nervously into Sherlock's eyes, and makes the decision to advance. With lips slightly parted, he draws Sherlock into a slow kiss.

Sherlock's heart stopped when John kissed him. It filled his heart with unknown warmth and joy, his sprits lifting. Wait. No. John can't kiss him; he doesn't deserve to feel loved and happiness after ruining John to the very lowest of his life. Sherlock knew that he broke John like none other, and that only made him feel worse. Guilt and self loathing filled his veins traveling with a rush of blood to his head. Sherlock pulled back from the kiss not too rough as he didn't want to hurt John further. Sherlock's breathing hadn't calmed down at all, if anything it looked like he was running a marathon that he had never trained for. A wave of anger at himself flashed though him; he shouldn't have let John do that! John needs to love someone that won't break and hurt him! John is good and Sherlock never wants to make him go through Hell and back again.

"Sherlock? What's wrong?" John asks, suspecting something is definitely up. He could tell by the way Sherlock looked. He wasn't surprised or calmed by the kiss, but rather angered.

Sherlock swallowed thickly he couldn't just tell John the truth, that he was in love with him and should never feel the content that only John gives him. He also couldn't tell John that he didn't like him that way or that he should leave because those would be destructive for the both of them. So instead he did what he knew best, put up a guise of normalcy. "Nothing is wrong John." He said simply, not looking into John's gorgeously ocean blue eyes.

John was still suspicious though. "Are you sure? It doesn't seem like you're telling me the truth." He doubted that maybe he ever trusted Sherlock. After all, he did just decide to fake his own death one day. The memory of that day is still replaying in John's head. The moment before the fall when Sherlock said two simple words; 'Goodbye, John' and then fell to his death, or so he thought.

Sherlock noticed his friend was thinking about that dreadful day where they parted for those long coming months. He moved a step closer to the other and pulled him close, he only did it for John's comfort he said over and over this is not for you this is for John. "Yes I am sure, what about you?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll be fine," John replied curtly. He still could sense that something was wrong, but did not bother to venture any further. He could tell that there was almost no emotion in the embrace that Sherlock had just given him. Why was that? He decided to try and forget about it. "Shall we head home?"

"That would be nice, I've missed it." he said softly and pulled away, his front left cold in the spot that John had previously filled. He wanted John to hold him again as he was warm and pleasant. No! No you can't think that Sherlock! No you are a greedy monster that is self centered and selfish you don't deserve him, fuck, his mind screamed at him.

When they reached the cemetery entrance, John hailed a cab. He told the cabbie to take then to Baker Street. When they arrived, John went into the kitchen and started brewing some tea. Sherlock took in the flat as it was, just the way they left it. The furniture untouched it even smelled the same of Home. However it was clearly obvious that it hadn't been dusted or touched as all the furniture in the sitting room had a thick layer of dust on all the seats. Sherlock had then realized that John had spent all his days in his room, never coming out except for the occasional cuppa of tea. He felt the world go by at the speed of sound and he caught himself holding onto the nearest thing which happened to be a table filled with all his experiments left forgotten and undisturbed. His vision clouded as the realization that even John at the flat suffered.

* * *

Sorry I know it kind of got cut off at the end. Please let me know what you think of it in the comments. Thanks. Next chapter is soon to come.


	2. Chapter 2

"Can I get you a cup?" John offered. He could tell Sherlock was in the midst of deducing what had been happening in the few months of his departure. Liquor bottles scattered around parts of the room and clusters of pill bottles that had not been ingested. Here and there along the wall there were kitchen knives that had been thrown. The smiley face in the wall even had more bullet holes.

"Uh no, I'm good, thanks though." Sherlock's heart nearly stopped when he saw John's new beverage choice along with the all too familiar pills. John hadn't been kidding around when he said that, he was serious about his suicide. Sherlock gulped when he saw dried blood on the floor obviously John had actually tried to commit the act in an attempt, but stopped because he thought Sherlock would come back. Sherlock moved back out of the room slowly gripping the door frame until his knuckles turned a deathly white his muscles protesting. His face had been a mask before but now his eyes where full of fear and compunction towards John and him losing his blogger again.

"Alright. Sorry about all the dust. I guess I never really got around to cleaning the place much." He set his cup down on the side table realizing that Sherlock saw the blood on the floor. He quickly went back into the kitchen and grabbed a rag to clean it up. Once he did that, he started pulling the knives out of the wall and picking up the empty liquor bottles. He put them in the kitchen and returned with a trashcan. He dumped all of the pill bottles into it. After all, he didn't have to worry so much anymore.

Sherlock watched John for a moment trying not to seem like there was something wrong however, on the inside his was trembling violently. He took off his coat and scarf and placed them on their hooks appearing as nonchalant as possible. "I'm uh going to take a shower and then maybe we could talk if you'd like?" He asked quickly not knowing if he could act like this much longer.

"Alright. I'm just going to sit here and drink my tea. There should be some clean towels in the linen closet." John said all of this on a much happier note than he had been earlier today. He felt a new sense of meaning to life and felt that he was being pulled out of the depression gradually.

Sherlock walked swiftly out of the room and into his own which was completely untouched as he expected. He grabbed a random set of clothes and walked into the hall and then into the wash room. He nearly ran into the room and shut the door quickly and leaned his back against it trying to calm what he had seen around the flat made him very ill thinking about it. His stomach churned uncomfortably and his skin was clammy. He then crossed the room straight for the shower turning it on making the faucet stream water to the tubs floor, making a pleasant sound that he sighed to. He turned to set his clothes on the sink like always, but froze still when he saw what was on it. There were piles of pill bottles stacked precisely into stacks. They were of all colors and sizes. But that wasn't the worst part. All along the side walls and mirrors were papers taped up in a stray of organized mess. He dropped his clothes to the ground making a sound thud sound and took a step closer to the notes. They were scribbled in John's handwriting each in vivid detail about how each of the drugs that lay mockingly on the mantle of the sink top could kill a person. Each one had red angry circles around the desired death that John apparently liked. Some had seizures listed or total organ failure or uncontrollable bleeding. Sherlock's stomach rolled violently and his breathing quickened the room filled with hot steam that made him sweat even more than he was. Bile rose in his throat wanting to leave him, he felt his stomach clench and he doubled over the toilet to vomit violently. He trembled and shook with each dry heave that left him breathless and weak. After a few minutes the heaving thankfully stopped and he sunk down to the cool tile where he remained for a long time, taking a slow breath to calm his stomach and his mind. Luckily he had put the shower on first so that John wouldn't have to hear his retching from the other room. He stared at the ceiling for a long while thinking about all the terrible things he had done all the emotions he made John suffer through.

John sat in the sitting area drinking his tea, unaware of the events that just occurred upstairs.

Sherlock sighed; self-loathing ensnared him in his own mind he would have to do something about that if he wanted to stay strong for John. He pushed it to the back of his mind for the moment however as he realized that the room was thick with steam and he was wasting water, not that he cared, but John would. He slowly got up from his place on the floor and held onto the towel rack for support. He reached over the flush the toilet as he was very ashamed of himself for that sort of behavior: yet another thing to hate about himself; he didn't want pity; he didn't deserve it. He then carefully peeled off his ivory shirt and black pants that he threw to the corner of the bathroom. He bent over to pick up his new clothes and placed them on the towel rack he was leaning on still as his legs were wobbly from the lack of energy. He then stripped down to nothing and stepped in the scalding rain of water. He wanted to turn it down but the pain distracted him from the guilt for the time being. The hot water make the marble white flesh turn pink in protest of the temperature. He looked up to the shower head, allowing his face to be burned. He stared at the silver of the faucet his eyes reflecting back at him, taunting him, yelling at him. He was memorized by the way they flashed as a new thought occurred to him. He hadn't realized that the minutes went by and that John was still waiting down stairs.

John figured Sherlock was going through some thought process, so he let him be. He sat patiently typing away on his laptop. He was looking back at his blog that he had abandoned for a very long time.

Sherlock quickly finished showing which didn't take long as he hurried so John wouldn't be more upset. After the soap was out of his hair, he turned to face the temperature adjuster; he placed his hand on it and slowly turned it to off. He didn't want to move; he just wanted to stay in the shower forever and never do anything, but he knew that John would go back into his depression that he was facing at the moment. John had passed on to him the very stage that left him thinking of suicide. Sherlock however would not do that as he obviously realized that he needed to be alive for the blonde's safety from himself. Sherlock sighed softly and stepped back out of the shower, reached over the towel rack to grab a navy blue one, and securely wrapped it around his hips. He then grabbed his emerald green shirt and buttoned it up to the very last one. He quickly finished dressing carelessly, as he didn't care anymore if the clothes were wet from the droplets on his body or if his hair was still dripping; he had lost his passion for immaculate appearance. He walked down the hallway to the living room where John sat in the living room on his laptop as he heard the keys type. He stayed behind the door frame, peeking his head inside to see John.

John was sitting patiently twiddling his thumbs. It's been an hour, he thought. He had finished his cup of tea and had gotten bored with scrolling his neglected blog. He just wanted to see Sherlock again, a face that he had really missed.

Sherlock cautiously walked out and stood in front of John. He wasn't sure where John wanted him to sit. He cleared his throat and took a breath "Hi John," he said nervously. He wasn't sure what John planned to converse about.

"Oh hey..." He didn't mention the fact that Sherlock was in the shower for almost an hour. "Go ahead and sit down. I dusted off your seat for you." He took one look at Sherlock's face which was still pale from having seen all the pills on the counter and the sticky notes on the mirror, and knew he had seen them. "Oh God you saw the...things didn't you? Sherlock, I'm sorry."

Sherlock sat down stiffly as he took in John's words. "Uh…yes I did see that," he whispered out hoarsely as his throat was still very raw.

"I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to see that." He sat awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

Sherlock wanted to say, 'John, yes I do deserve to see that to see what you went though'. But instead, he took the rule of the coward and hung his head. He curled his body up close to him and attempted to act like it was nothing, but even a master of deception like himself couldn't just hide the fact that his best friend had planned his death in various ways.

"Sherlock..." John started, "you need to forgive me. I was having a really hard time coping with the fact that I was never going to see you again. I'm sorry that I spooked you. Please just try to forget that I went through a low point in my life. You're back now and things are going to get better. Please understand."

Sherlock looked up. John…apologizing to _him_? No, he did not want pity from _John_ of all people. He looked down at the floor angrily as he actually had the nerve to say he does understand and that he forgives John. It should be the other way around; John is perfect and never did anything to receive the pain Sherlock gave him. John always stood by his side. John was always there for him, but when John needed him most, he was gone. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but he felt bile rise again, so he quickly close his mouth and swallowed it down with a grimace.

"I know I have caused you a lot of pain by looking at the mess I became." John lowered his head. "I could tell something had put you off."

Sherlock was fuming at himself the pit of self-loathing magnifying by every passing moment. He took a deep breath, one that he didn't earn; he thought silently and answered, "I caused you more," he said in a horse whisper.

John moved closer to him and placed a hand softly on his shoulder. "I am sure that all that you did had good intentions. It just went through my head differently than you intended it to. I have forgiven you. It's your turn to forgive yourself."

Sherlock's breath stopped. John forgives him? Well, that was good, but he could never forgive himself after making John almost kill himself on numerous occasions. He needed to leave right now or he would do something he would regret even more. "Of course I have," he said, speaking his lie of the century. But John couldn't know that because that would make him weak and needy for John's compliments that he never deserved again.

John looked at him, puzzled. He didn't believe him for one second. "That expression on your face says otherwise."

Sherlock wanted to yell at him for prying, but instead he bit the inside of his cheek rather hard, making him taste the metallic tinge of his blood. The force that he bit down with should have hurt, but inside it made him feel a little better, being able to control the pain and redirecting it from the long ache in his heart.

"If you haven't yet, I'm not mad. Eventually, you will. I promise." John tried to be as reassuring as possible even though he doubted it would get into Sherlock's head.

Sherlock wanted to call out to John for help, telling him all the things he was feeling at the moment, but that was selfish; John needed him more than ever at the moment and he didn't want to burden John with more troubles. "Okay," he breathed out. He doubted it immensely, but John had always given him that bit if hope and encouragement when everyone denied him.

"If you ever just need to talk about it, I'm always here to talk." John smiled weakly. He still knew that Sherlock was hiding a lot of his emotions, but he didn't need to pry tonight.

Talk? About emotions? Sherlock nearly scoffed at the preposterous idea of conversing about his _feelings_. "I'm fine John." He watched John's face fall, making him angry at himself once more; can he do anything but hurt John for once in his life?! "However thank...you for the offer," he added very lamely.

"Anything." John couldn't tell if Sherlock had any of the same feelings that he felt for him. _He's just so hard to read_, he thought. He decided he would not make any more romantic advances like he did earlier at the cemetery.

Sherlock needed to be alone and think about all events of that day, but he didn't want to leave John. "I…well it's late and I do believe I am going to retire for the day. If that's alright?" he asked wanting to make sure that John was okay with it too.

"Yes that's fine. I'm tired as well. Well, I guess goodnight then Sherlock." John stands, and walks upstairs to his room. At first he had some trouble falling asleep, but once he had the assurance that Sherlock was back, he slept like a baby.

Sherlock sat still for a long while before slowly getting up and walking to his own room. Once inside he paced for hours on end until his feet were numb and his ankles weak.


	3. Chapter 3

John woke the next morning, feeling the most refreshed he had been in a long time. He went downstairs and made two cups of tea and sat on the sofa, sipping tea, waiting for Sherlock to come downstairs. That might be a while, he thought.

Sherlock had been up the entire night, his mind involuntary replaying all the things he had done to John physical and emotional. His head swarmed and buzzed yelling at him for every mistake he had ever made. His own salvation had turned against him telling him all the things others had told him that before he had denied. His mind had become his own worst nightmare one that he couldn't wake up from. He had tried yelling into a pillow, pacing around for hours, his violin, reading, he had even tried deleting all these emotions but all failed much like his mind had told him that he was, a failure that needed to piss off.

John sat waiting. He figured Sherlock was either pacing around his room or fast asleep, probably dreaming a terrible nightmare.

Sherlock flopped down on his bed before getting up again in frustration. He didn't know how to get rid of whatever it was and it was making him angrier by the second. Rage boiled like lava in the very pit of him.

After waiting for almost an hour, John realized Sherlock would not be coming down for a long time. Maybe not at all for the entire day. He poured the cup of tea that was originally meant for Sherlock down the drain, knowing it was already cold. John went upstairs and decided to leave Sherlock be. He got dressed and went out to the grocery store.

Sherlock had heard John leave and moments later he stopped in front of his dresser and stared at it. The frustration and anger had reached an over flow point in him. He shook with rage at himself for everything he had done. He opened the drawer slowly the cool wood on his hands and he pulled it out to its stopping point before ripping it from its gears and throwing it behind him with a clash against the wall. He then pulled every drawer from their places and repeated until the dresser was empty much like his inside, just a skeleton with no innards. He turned around to face his bed and ripped the sheets from the neatly folded place and threw them to wear his clothes lie abandoned, just like I left John he thought before stomping over to his book stack and picking one up at a time and violently throwing each one at the opposite wall leaving a dent in the mortar. He then went in front of his full body length mirror and stared at his reflection. His eyes were bloodshot and he apparently started crying at some point that was beyond him at the moment. His hair was array and sticking up at random spots. His face was full of anguish and hatred for his own reflection. He was breathing heavily and unevenly and his clothes were rumpled. He brought his fists up and lunged at the mirror, himself, in a blind rage of wrath a raw animal sound emitting from his throat. The mirror cracked and broke into shards raining down on the wooden floor with small thumps. His hands were bloodied and lacerated by all the tiny pieces he stared down at them watching the blood ooze from each opening of his pale flesh. He then fell to the ground in exhaustion unto the pile of broken glass not caring of the pain that should have hurt profusely but felt good? A relief of sorts he thought. He then blindly reached for a piece of glass, making his blood smear all of the others making it a gruesome and stomach rolling scene. Once he found one that was to his liking he rolled up his already messed up shirt and stared down at his smooth even bone white skin, teasing him to place the edge of the shard to it. He lifted his hand to his middle and pressed down a tad into his flesh making a dent but not penetrating it. He pushed down harder making the appearance of his own blood. He then craved slowly the word 'coward' in to his own porcelain canvas of skin. After that one was done he found another spot and wrote the word 'freak', not feeling a single protest from his irritated skin, after all he deserved this he thought seething. After about ten minutes of this stopping and finding a new spot making sure not to overlap a different word, he had at least fifteen going he thought. He wanted to do more but he had run out of room to finish. But it felt _so_ good; finally he found his release to his swirling pit of hatred, the crimson fluid poured languidly over his white giving it an eerie but beautiful look to it. He then lay atop the shards piercing into his back but not caring as he found it calming. He pulled his shirt down over the cuts making it soaked it with his blood, darkening the fabric with the thick ooze. He starred up at the white ceiling tears streaming down his face like rivers that never ceased to flow. He whimpered out as he lay their so alone in the world with no one to find him.

Once John came back and put the groceries away, he heard shouting coming from Sherlock's room. He ran down the hall and opened the door to find a horror. When John entered the room, he stopped and all time froze. He first looked to the bed, disheveled with clothes and the bed spread halfway off it. He also noticed the drawer sitting awkwardly on the bed. Next he moved to the dresser, where he saw that all the drawers were removed, the dent in the wall, and the mirror on it had been shattered. His eyes followed a trail of shattered glass and blood only to find Sherlock lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood. That's when time caught up to him. "SHERLOCK!" He shouted as he ran down the stairs to grab his cell phone. He immediately dialed the emergency line while he tried to resuscitate his friend. "Yes hi, my name is John Watson and I just found my friend lying on the floor unconscious in a pool of blood...his name is Sherlock Holmes...the wounds appear to be..." he choked on his words, "self-inflicted!" He began crying, the lady on the other end of the line trying to get him to calm down. "The address is 221b Baker Street. Send help now! Please for God's sake!"

"They are on the way, sir. Please stay on the line until emergency personnel arrive," the lady on the other end said calmly, which started to tick him off. He started to perform CPR on Sherlock in hopes of possibly returning him to consciousness.

Once the ambulance arrived, John quickly grabbed his coat, got a cab and followed the ambulance to the hospital. He sat in the waiting area for almost two hours until finally, a doctor approached him.

"Dr. Watson, my name is Dr. McGuire. I came to assure you that Sherlock will be okay. We have cleaned him up and put some meds into his system. Was he having any emotional troubles, depression, or thoughts of suicide?"

"Unfortunately, yes," John replied. "It's hard to explain. I didn't see any signs for self-harm but I think he was under a lot of emotional pressure."

The doctor wrote a little note down on his clipboard. "Thank you. You may go in and see him now, but he may still be unconscious." The doctor walked away without another word.

John went into Sherlock's room and sat down in a chair next to the bed. John grasped Sherlock's hand. "Please wake up and get out of your nightmare," he whispered ever so softly.

Sherlock heard the soft whisper of John's loving voice ringing in his ears, he wanted to call out for him but he didn't want to face John like...this. He was a disgrace to be called John's best friend, he had mental breakdown hours after John was out of his suicide mode for goodness sakes! What kind of human does that to another he thought furiously. He then felt the hand that encased his own bandaged one and it filled with unknown warmth that he had only felt when John was embracing him the other day. He cracked open his eye lids to see John's face covered with the lines of worry and fretting over his sorry excuse for a person's form. He then just batted them open and the promptly shut them again as the over head light was nearly blinding. "Jawwwnn," he moaned out as his throat was rather sore, probably from his yelling and screaming manically he assumed.

"It's okay, Sherlock. I'm here. And I'm going to stay until you are fully healed. I will not leave your side I promise." He moved closer to Sherlock's ear and whispered, "You're not a coward, love. You're not a freak either. You are unique and you are perfectly imperfect. That's why I love you." He moved his head back slowly, smiling weakly at Sherlock. "You are worth so much more than you think you are." He put two fingers to his mouth, and then pressed them gently to Sherlock's forehead. "You will never have to be alone. I'll always be right here to catch you."

Sherlock looked up to John his eyes wide with fear that he would be yelled at for his remarkable stupidity. However, the angry words of venom never flowed from John's lips and instead John spoke of devotion and promise, even words of affection. No, no, John couldn't think that just look at the mess he had gotten into! "John, please...g-go," he stuttered out. He couldn't do it anymore acting like there was nothing wrong when their so obviously was. "I-I...please?" He said in hysterics the tears flowing shamefully down his cheekbones; John didn't need to see him so broken. He was shaking violently and trembling in the hard hospital bed. His teeth chattering and breathing was dramatically increasing. By now he was sitting up in a fetal position wanting to find the sharpest object near him so that he could punish his body and mind for acting so immaturely. "N-no J-John, your wron-ng," he mumbled out though his sobs.

John let go of Sherlock's hand, stood up and stepped back, almost with a bit of anger. "Then I guess you're going to have to figure it out for yourself. Obviously I am no help." He turned for the doorway and stopped in the middle of it. "I'll be at the flat...if you decide to come back." And with that, he left, leaving Sherlock's mind full of questions.

Sherlock stared after him tears still streaming down his puffy face. He didn't really want John to leave he just said that to protect himself. He hoped that John would be stubborn like he always was and refuse to leave, but now he was just leaving him in the dust. He watched John walk out into the hallway, not ever looking back at him. Sherlock balled up and buried his face sobbing in hysterics whimpering like a stay beaten animal. The love of his life left him in this broken state.

John stopped walking when he heard Sherlock's muffled cries. Sherlock did leave him in a broken state and wasn't there for him when he needed him most, buy that didn't mean that he needed to leave Sherlock in his most darkest hour. He quickly ran down the street to a florist on a corner. He bought a bouquet of flowers and then went back to the hospital. Before entering Sherlock's room, he still heard small cries escaping the detective. He entered, holding the flowers behind his back. "Hello, Sherlock..."

Sherlock looked up his normally pale complexion now all blotchy with tear stains and red cheeks. "Jo-hn?" He croaked out. John came back to him even after everything he came back.

John came forward, looking embarrassed as ever. "I brought you something..." He pulled out the bouquet of flowers and placed them in Sherlock's bandaged hands ever so carefully. "I thought you would like them. And I'm sorry I left you. You needed me and I deserted you. I was being a bastard and only thinking about myself, when in my eyes, you are all that really matters to me."

Sherlock stared at the flowers curiously he had never received flowers from someone before. He then looked up at John who was apologizing to him. "No John. You are perfect and weren't being selfish. You should leave me before you can't get out," he said, staring at the white walls now.

"And why would I want to. I want you just the way you are, Sherlock. Just how it was. That's what I want. Give me a reason I would want to get out of it in the first place." John took Sherlock's hand again and held it tightly without trying to hurt him.

"Just the way I am? The way I AM!" He yelled causing his voice to go raw and hallow just like before. "_Look_ at me John. I am a mess, you don't want this. I hurt you and I _never_ want to do that again. I am selfish and emotionless you don't want that. You do not want the just the I am John," he said thickly his eyes burning and his inside screaming for help, his mind said push John away, but his heart yearned for him.

John broke down and started crying. He couldn't bear to see Sherlock like this. He especially couldn't take the way he was being talked to. He thought about leaving again and never coming back, but his loving heart wouldn't let him move from his spot. He stayed there, crying, Sherlock watching him silently.

"See I'm right. I hurt you yet again. I don't deserve such a kind loving sweet person like you," he said, trying not to break upon witnessing John break again. He lifted up his hospital gown to see the pink red raw carvings in his skin he pulled it down to show proof to John. "See John? _This_ is what I am," he said, indicating to the wounds on his marble skin, his voice cracking terribly giving it an eerie echo to the room.

John sniffles and speaks between sobs. "This is what you are now, not what you were and not what you will become. Don't you see, I am trying to look past all of this? I am looking into your kind heart that still beats. Beats with happiness when you get a case, beats with joy when you solve one, beats with love for those around you. Don't you understand that I see the good in you? I have always seen the good in you and I always will until we part in death. I am trying to help you and all you keep doing is _fucking_ turning me away! For God's sake, do you have any empathy at all!?"

Sherlock froze still no he didn't have any he thought. He didn't know what to say for once in his life, just blank. He paled to the color of the bleached walls the smell of formaldehyde in the air lingering though out the room.

John looked up into Sherlock's icy blue eyes, his eyes red from the tears that had fallen. "What do you have to say for yourself now? You've made the situation worse with this immoral outburst. I was hoping...praying that you would come back and be alright. Do you think this is alright? Because quite frankly, I don't."

Sherlock wanted to curl up and forget about everything. John was telling him exactly what his mind had been screaming at him for days, and now John's sweet voice was chanting them back at him.

"I'm not trying to be mad at you. You are just making it really, _really_ hard. You need to fix...whatever this is. And I...I am willing to help you out of it." John stared into Sherlock's eyes, those eyes still filled with sorrow and depression.

Sherlock reached out for him wanting to hold onto the blonde until this storm of emotion and anger passed. However, he felt his hand stay cold and nearly broke again. He waited, hoping for John to take it again.

John saw that Sherlock needed to feel his warmth against his cold skin. He took hold of his hand again. "Something like this would be much better, wouldn't it? None of the screaming and fighting."

Sherlock grabbed John's hand desperately as if clinging to a rock in the middle of a treacherous sea storm willing him to be swept away. He fell to his right side with a soft thud as he body was beyond its exertion. He pulled John's arm to his chest and clung to it as if John was leaving him forever. He cried softly as John's words sunk in to the very core of his long shattered heart. He wanted to be held by John as if he were a small child in a thunderstorm for the first time. He shivered under the thin 'blanket' of the hospitals excuse of one. "John, I'm so so so sorry!" He stuttered out lost for any other words. "I just...!" He started out before closing in on John's arm and on himself.

John put his other arm around Sherlock and pulled him into a hug. He let Sherlock cry into his shoulder as silent tears too fell from his eyes. "There there..." he said in a calm and soothing voice. He had never seen Sherlock so low and so broken ever. But now his nightmare was a reality. He knew all that Sherlock needed was some love and care. His next move was a simple, yet touching gesture; a kiss to the top of the head. With that gesture, Sherlock stopped shivering.

Sherlock looked up at John with his long soaked ebony lashes his eyes wide with confusion from the kiss. He swallowed the phlegm that was running down his throat and whispered out "You still care for me that...way?" He asked out puzzled as to why John still cared for him romantically after all this.

"God, yes. Every relationship has its roadblocks. This...this is ours." John smiled weakly, looking straight into Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock took a shaky breath; John still loved him and that's all that mattered at the moment. He shifted his battered body up to position his face closer to John's their hot breathes tickling one another's soft plush desirable lips. "You mean it's just the two of us, against the rest of the world?" He breathlessly spoke in a gust of hot sticky breath to John's lips.

"If that's what you want, then I'm all for it." Their lips were just barely touching.

"Yes I do, very much," he said leaning closer to John's parted lips, he shivered as John now took his turn to breath against his cupids brow.

A little closer and John lightly kissed Sherlock. All of the years of pain and suffering vanished. His worries subsided and he put all his emotion into the kiss. It screamed 'I love you' and 'I need you'. It also said 'and I know you need me too'. He kissed Sherlock in hopes of taking all of his fears away. Sherlock was taken aback by all the emotion that John so obviously was feeling. The warm clash of flesh upon his drove his deepest emotions of affection for John to the very surface. He kissed back with all the love and endearment he had ever felt of the said man, he kissed him roughly, dragging his teeth over the bottom of John's lip then angling his mouth a different way to swallow John up again. The passion of the kiss Sherlock was giving John so obviously shocked the blonde. John had no idea that Sherlock felt so emotionally attached to him. He didn't even know he had much emotion for him at all. He returned the favor, angling differently to get to all of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock gently pulled his arm away from John's grip to snake it up to John's short blonde hair, ghosting over his skin as he found the back of this head. He then pulled the good doctor down closer to him. Their teeth clashed as Sherlock nipped and suckled accurately on John's now swollen ones that had to be bright red by now.

John reluctantly pulled away, breathless, and trying to get some air. "I love you, Sherlock. I always have. I always will."

Sherlock was panting slightly as the kiss left them breathless and their hearts fluttering in erotic beats, but always in unison. He rested his forehead to John's and softly said "I care for you too."

John placed another soft and quick kiss on Sherlock's lips, only because they looked like they needed another one. John smiled weakly. "We're going to be okay. We'll get through this together. Okay?"

Sherlock looked down at the bed sheets in shame. "Are you sure John?" he asked quietly. He needed to be sure.

"I've never been more positive. I will not leave your side through this. I promise."

Sherlock stiffly nodded as his heart melted at the sentiment in the others voice.

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Hey! I have decided that I am going to update the fic every Friday, so be on the lookout every Friday for updates. Comments for this chapter?


	4. Chapter 4

A nurse entered the room, but turned to leave when she saw the two were having a moment. John called to her and stopped her. "Would you please bring a vase for these flowers, miss?" She nodded and went off to get one. "I'm going to take good care of you Sherlock and get you back on your feet."

"Promise?" Sherlock whispered out, blushing as at how the nurse caught them.

"Always." John nudged his forehead to Sherlock's and closed his eyes, as if they were having some sort of spiritual and emotional connection.

Sherlock closed his as sleep was encasing him. He just barely hid a yawn.

John just let Sherlock fall asleep in his arms. He placed the sleepy detective's head on the pillow. He grasped his hand again and sat there as Sherlock slept. "Always," he whispered. "Always."

Sherlock felt John sit next to him in the cotton hospital bed and immediately moved closer to him, his head tucked on John's lap and his arms thrown around his waist. He whimpered as it felt so good to finally be in John's arms and have a restful bout of sleep. John stroked Sherlock's hair calmly as he sat there. He knew this was the best sleep Sherlock had gotten in a while. He imagined the restless nights he must have endured before now. Sherlock sighed contently when began to stoke his hair in soft soothing patterns. He fell into a deep sleep rather quickly as John was warm and exceptionality comforting. John swirled his hand in his hair on the back of his head in a rhythmic pattern that made him moan softly out in pleasure. That was always a weakness he had, his head was very sensitive and of course John had found the most pleasing spot. John smiled a little, looking down on his detective who was so peacefully lying there. The bond was sealing between the two of them. The bond that was broken is almost completely repaired. John began to hum a soft lullaby, helping Sherlock drift into an even deeper sleep. Sherlock felt himself drift in and out of a daze. He brought his long legs to rest up by his chest and snuggled deeper into John's torso. They shared a connection in that moment that they had never had before. It was a somewhat romantic one, but also one that cried out in need for the other person. John felt Sherlock's warmth on his torso and he too almost fell asleep in his chair. Sherlock yawned heavily and called out John's name as he moved his hand to grip some of John's shirt, ruffling it.

"Yes, Sherlock?" he whispered quietly. "What is it, love?"

Sherlock turned his head to look up at his John with heavy eyes that were drooping and struggling to stay open. "Mhmm. I just wanted to say thank you." he said above a whisper, voice laced with sleep.

"Anything for you." John smiled weakly as Sherlock tried to drift off to sleep. The nurse came back in with a vase, filled it with water and put the flowers in it. "Thank you," John whispered. She quickly checked Sherlock's levels before heading back into the corridor.

Sherlock was irritated that the nurse had the nerve to check on him while he was with John but at the moment John's embrace was a pleasant and welcoming distraction to the irksomeness of hospital staff. John felt his eyes drooping. He had been put under so much stress today that he used up so much of his energy. While still somewhat holding Sherlock, he fell asleep, not for one moment remembering he was in a hospital.

The sun was high up in the cloudless sky, filling the quite room with beams of the warm light spilling in from the blinds. The morning was filled with birds and cars making noise while the silent roll of wheels from the corridors passed on by. Sherlock shifted from his sleeping position, curling up on himself again as he had sprawled out over John sometime in the night.

John woke when Sherlock started moving and shifting. "Morning, love," he said in mid-stretch. He kissed Sherlock's temple. "I'll call the nurse to bring you some breakfast."

"Joohhnn." he slurred his voice low and mellow. "I don't want food." he complained before shielding his face from the light in John's jumper.

"What do you want then? Name anything and I'll have it for you." As he said this, he moved the curls out of the way of Sherlock's eyes so he could get a better look at them.

"Can we go home?" He asks in a small muffled voice from his place in John's shirt.

John smirked and grinned. "I'll have to talk to the doctor, but I'm sure we can make it happen." Ten minutes later, Sherlock was given the okay to go home. "I brought some clean clothes for you," John said, holding out a pile of neatly folded clothes.

Sherlock sat up in the uncomfortable bed, his back cracking as he reached for the clothes at the end. John was watching him and he then blushed a red, "Uh John? Could I get dressed?" He asked nervously as John's just stood in the middle of the room.

"Of course." He stood, drew the curtain, and stood outside waiting. The doctor walked by, saw John and stopped to talk to him.

"Dr. Watson, there are some things I need to discuss with you before you take Sherlock home."

John nodded and gave his full attention to the doctor.

"You may be having some difficulties with him when he goes home. He may experience a nervous breakdown and have a panic attack. I am sure you can take care of him, but if it gets too serious, you need to contact me immediately." He hands John a business card. "He is also going to need to come in regularly for therapy to help him deal with the depression and suicidal thoughts. Based on what the nurse told me, I think you will be the most help to him."

John's cheeks turned a tint of bright pink. She had been eavesdropping, not on purpose, but she took note. "Thank you, Dr. McGuire." He shook the good doctor's hand. "We'll be in touch."

Sherlock hopped out of his bed giddy that he could leave this retched place. He pulled on his clothes rather quickly, closing his eyes when he removed the dressing gown as he refused to see the wounds that he inflicted upon himself the day before.

"Almost ready Sherlock?" John called into the room. He was a bit nervous to take him back to the flat. What if he was going to have a panic attack? What would happen then? He anxiously thought about it as Sherlock got dressed to leave the hospital.

Sherlock looked down at his clothes and smiled. John had picked out a simple but urbane shirt and pants. He walked towards the closed door and turned the silver metal handle, cracking open the plastic fake wood like door, peaking though it to sneak a glance at John before he noticed.

"Oh good," John said. He looked at Sherlock and saw that he had forgotten the vase of flowers. "Hey, don't you want your flowers?"

"Yes of course John," he said blushing as they were sitting out in the open and he had gotten distracted by John of course.

John blushed too as Sherlock went to pick up the vase. He took Sherlock by the arm. "Let's get out of here," John said with a big smile on his face. They darted for the elevator.

Once inside the elevator, Sherlock stood rather close to John even though it contained no other occupants.

John nuzzled his nose into Sherlock's shoulder, holding him close. He would be sure not to let him out of his sight for a very long time. "You're sleeping in my room tonight. Nothing you say will make it happen otherwise."

Sherlock felt a rush of blood travel to his pale face, making him blush rather deeply at John's words. He had never shared a bed space with another person, and now his...boyfriend? Was he implying to share with him?

"I've got to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don't do anything. But I don't think you'll mind anyway," John said, feeling a tint of pink paint his cheeks.

"I...no...I don't," he mumbled in a whisper hiding his face in his hands.

John chuckled. "Why are you so embarrassed? We did after all give anybody who walked by some PDA last night. I love you, and I think you love me too, so what is there to be ashamed of?" John turned to the taller man and smiled.

Sherlock blushed and looked around the elevator, anywhere but at John, who was so right that it was an understatement. "I'm just new to..._this_ that's all. And I've never shared a sleeping place with another person before I thought that was later in the relationship," he whispered out clearly embarrassed.

"Normally...yes, but like I said, I'm not letting you out of my sight. Besides we've known each other for how long now? For God's sake I saw you half naked in Buckingham Palace, this can't be bad."

Sherlock bit his lip in his remembrance to that day and how John looked at him. "That's true," he said softly, letting the idea of sharing a bed with John sink in.

John moved his arm to clasp his hand in Sherlock's. He looked up and smiled brightly."You look dashing today," John piped up. "I really like that shirt on you."

Sherlock looked down at him in surprise after he complimented and held his cold hand. "Well you picked it out John," he said simply not sure what else to say.

"I know. That's the reason I picked it." John winked as the elevator door opened and he led Sherlock into the hospital lobby.

Sherlock smirked as he followed John put into the lobby that was busy with patients and doctors running around this way and that. He grabbed John's hand firmly as he didn't want to become separated from his John in the sea of swarming people.

John turned around slightly to Sherlock as they went through the hospital's front sliding doors. "Let's do lunch, shall we?"

"That sounds alright," he said quietly as the whisk of fresh air caressed his face he blinked to keep the sun at bay as they walked outside.

"I'm thinking Angelo's is the best place to go. Sound alright to you?"

"Yes sounds lovely John." He replied enthusiastically.

John hailed a cab and opened the door for Sherlock. He got in after Sherlock. "Angelo's please," he told the cabbie. He turned back to Sherlock. "So, what do you think you are going to have?"

Sherlock thought for a moment, he really wasn't all the hungry as he was rather tried but sharing something with John was enough motivation for him to keep his eyes open. "Can I share something with you?" he asked sheepishly.

"Sure," John replied with a smile. "I'm not terribly hungry either. Maybe we could go with the classic: spaghetti."

Sherlock smiled lightly in agreement and shifted closer to John. When they got to Angelo's, John gave the cabbie the fare and hopped out, opening the car door for Sherlock.

"After you, love."

Sherlock smiled and blushed, but obeyed and got out of the car. John then walked up to the door of the restaurant and opened it for Sherlock. As soon as they were both inside, Angelo scooped them into a huge hug, greeting them loudly. He led them to their normal seat by the window.

"Thank you Angelo," John said.

Angelo went off into the kitchen to get water for the two of them. Sherlock sat down and rested his arms on the table, his face settling in on his hands admiring the man across from the table. John looked up from the menu to find Sherlock's eyes trained on him. John managed a wink and a little grin.

"So what sauce should we get on our pasta?"

"Hmm doesn't matter to me," Sherlock said, sighing breathlessly.

Angelo returned with two glasses of water. He took their order and went back into the kitchen.

"So, what should we talk about?" John asked Sherlock, who really didn't seem to be paying attention to a word he said, but rather just his movements.

Sherlock watched John pick up his glass and move it to his lips in almost a teasing sort of way. He stared at John's lips as he licked then clean but now with a shimmer in the candle light.

"Ahem, Sherlock I'm talking to you."

Sherlock blinked to snap himself out of his fantasy. He blushed and looked down at the table, mortified that he had been caught. "Oh uh yes...what was it that you were saying?" He said shyly, hoping that John wouldn't notice what he was doing before.

John laughed and blushed a little. "I was just asking what you wanted to talk about."

Sherlock's heart nearly melted when John laughed; it truly was a beautiful sound that he would never want to stop hearing. "Oh, um I have no idea," he said honestly.

"Well I haven't the faintest either." John laughed again heartily. He looked straight into Sherlock's eyes and all their beauty. He next moved to his cheekbones, whose definition was the most he'd ever seen. Then he moved back up to the creases he got when he smiled those smiles that only he ever saw. Finally, he glanced over his lips. Those perfect lips, so soft and so kissable. He was just imagining having a make-out session, just to feel their tenderness and taste their sweetness.

Sherlock looked back up at John and noted that he was looking at him differently. John's eyes were blown wide, his pupils dilated making his blue eyes onyx black, his lips parted as he was breathless in his state of desire. Sherlock blushed deeply as John licked his bottom lip slowly in a tantalizing way. He swallowed nervously as he had never been in this sort of intimate situation before. John saw the tension building inside Sherlock. Good thing for him, Angelo had just arrived with spaghetti. "Looks wonderful, Angelo. Thank you." There was one plate. John picked at it, twirled some pasta onto his fork and ate it. "It's quite good, try some."

Sherlock tentatively picked up his fork and followed John in consuming the pasta. The two sat and chatted for a while, about cases and how Anderson is annoying and the like. John went in for another forkful of pasta. Sherlock looked over at the other patrons as he absent mindlessly twirled another forkful of pasta. He brought to his lips and lavished in the Italian flavors, thyme basil garlic fresh tomato all swirling to make one pungent pleasurable mouth watering flavor. Neither of them were really paying attention to the fact that they both had part of one strand of spaghetti. They got closer to each other as they ate and it wasn't until their faces were inches apart, when they realized they were sharing it.

John grinned. "Hello gorgeous," he said with a wink.

Sherlock flushed as their mouths were centimeters from one another. He barely registered the fact John had called him gorgeous. John inched closer and grazed Sherlock's lips, tasting herbs from the sauce on his lips. Those succulent lips that he had kissed so dearly last night. Sherlock shivered as John's ghosting lips hovered over his. His eyes dilated into slivers and he breathed on John's parted ones. John kissed him lightly, as he felt many patrons at the restaurant watching them with glaring eyes. Not enough to completely satisfy him, but just enough to hold him over. Sherlock blushed a deep red, as he noticed that many had beady eyes on them. The kiss he was given left him wanting more, so much more, desire and lust raged in the pit of him, clawing wanting to get out.

"Later," John whispered, winking again. John knew he wanted it too. Obviously, this was a completely inappropriate setting for that. John finished some of the pasta, asked Angelo for the check and a box, and then paid the bill. Sherlock suddenly felt like the clothes he had on his back were to hot after John's words of promise. In his turmoil of self control he didn't even notice that John was standing next to him offering a hand to help him up.

"C'mon Sherlock. Let's get on home," John said with a smile, hand held out waiting for Sherlock to grasp it.

Sherlock took it eagerly and stood up still grasping John's offered hand intertwining them as a content sigh fell from his lips.

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Sorry it took me so long to update it. I had a thing I was doing this Friday and totally forgot to post. Next chapter will be up this Friday. Promise! :)


	5. Chapter 5 (Caution: NSFW)

**Author's note: WARNING!** Mild to sort of heavy (depending on your scale) NSFW content. **WARNING!**

**THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING! If you don't want NSFW stuff, don't worry. You won't be missing any major plot points. Just wait for next week's chapter. :)**

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John opened the door to the flat and let Sherlock in first. He took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the door. "It's nice to be home, don't you think?"

Sherlock looked down at John, taking off his black trench coat and hanging it by John's, his scarf following. Once all situated he turned to John. "Yes it is very nice to be home, with you," he softly added his eyes sparkling and piercing into the other.

John couldn't handle his emotions anymore. He pushed Sherlock up against the wall, kissing him passionately and rough. He did not kiss many people like this, and trying it on Sherlock was a whole new experience. The jaw was different. The nose was sharper. Lips were rougher. And well he was also taller, which was somewhat new to him. He liked the way he smelled. It was masculine, something completely opposite of what he was used to. But he liked it. He ran his hands through Sherlock's luscious curls, sending himself into a psychedelic feeling.

Sherlock gasped in surprise as he felt his back pressed tight up against the wall with John holding him firmly in place. "Mhmmgh" he mumbled out when he felt John's hands thread thought his hair, massaging his roots. He kissed back with just as much passion, his lips hungrily nipping and caressing John's. He moved his hands to rest on John's waist, gripping them quite tightly and pulling the blonde flush against him seeking more contact.

John moaned. This was so unreal. He had kissed plenty of women like this, but never a man. It was gorgeous. Better than a woman's touch. It was rougher, more passionate, and definitely more playful. Now he had an idea of what women get to feel when they get kissed. He moved his hands to behind Sherlock's neck, pulling him closer. He licked Sherlock's lips, asking for permission.

Sherlock immediately allowed John to caress him in his mouth. He parted his lips a tad bit more and slanted his face so that the angle was more pliable for the both of them. He felt John's hands travel to the back of his neck and his knees went weak when John started to play with a lose piece of his ebony curls.

John used his tongue to explore the inside of Sherlock's mouth. He felt himself go weak when Sherlock started playing with his hair. He could feel something poking him through Sherlock's pants, and with that he moaned and felt his knees go weak.

Sherlock gently flipped them around; he wanted to make sure that John was completely overshadowed in his tall frame. He kissed him with precision hitting all the spots he had mapped out that drove his John mad with lust and desire. He hadn't realized that he was painfully aroused, but he had noticed John's. He put all his weight on his left leg and placed his right one in between John's stance. He slid up the wall until reaching the crotch of John's trousers. He carefully moved up a tad bit more so that his knee was applying a teasing amount of pressure to John's groin.

John gasped. He too had not noticed he was growing hard painfully and quickly. This move that Sherlock made caused John to become explosive. He practically engulfed Sherlock. He started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock felt John growing very eager, but instead of letting him continue his state of undress, Sherlock took hold of John's hands and placed them flush against the wallpaper above the blondes head, preventing him from touching the detective. Sherlock then lifted his knee to place it a top of John's growing pant front and pushed into it carefully with his knee, taking care to roll it in a slow circular motion, while applying different various states of pressure.

John moaned with pleasure. Just everything that Sherlock had done to him so far was making him more and more turned on by the minute. He felt his bulge throbbing painfully in his pants. He so eagerly wanted to get them off, but he was restrained by the taller man.

Sherlock felt John struggle but that only made him more determined to keep his steady. He pulled away from the kiss to travel butterfly kisses down John's jaw line and sneaking back into his neck. He took a piece of flesh between his teeth and pulling back before smoothing it over with a swish of hot tongue. He kissed John's rapid pulse point with tender care making sure to extract as many sounds from John as possible. While doing this he continued, his memorizations on John's lower half making sure to go deliberately slow.

John gasped and moaned out loud. He bit his lips as the detective grazed his body with perfect lips. John also continued to groan with sexual frustration as he kept getting harder as Sherlock progressively moved around his body. "Get on with it already," he shouted, as he was barely able to handle the pain of his erection anymore.

Sherlock ignored John and traveled down to his perfectly tanned collar bone. He ghosted his lips over the rim of it until he found a good spot before repeating his actions on the new spot. He let John's hands fall and he placed his own skillfully on John's chest over top his breasts. He swiped his thumbs back and forth on John's nipples, making sure to make them precise.

John moaned. Sherlock was glorious! He had never felt this aroused before, not even with a woman. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, pulling their hips closer together.

Sherlock removed his knee from John's crotch with an audible protest from the other. However, the absent fiction was soon replaced by Sherlock's hips rolling deeply into John's.

John groaned throatily at Sherlock's change in body position. John also felt his hips moving involuntarily to match Sherlock's rhythm. He couldn't comprehend how amazing this felt. It was almost surreal. John's nails dug into Sherlock's back, not too hard, but hard enough.

Sherlock bit down rather hard when John's nails clung into his back. He dug slowly and very precisely into John, knowing how to drive him to the very edge in a few simple moves. He sped up his thumbs while gradually slowing down his hips in a rhythmic motion.

"Fucking hell!" John could feel himself coming closer. He grinded his hips against Sherlock's more ferociously than before. He didn't really want to come in his pants, but he didn't have much of a choice.

Sherlock moved back to John's lips, knowing that John was very close. Sherlock's fingertips were tingling pleasantly as they traveled up his arms in a warm sort of way. He captured John's lips languidly and nibbled on John's swollen bottom one, knowing it would be his undoing.

John shouted. That nibble was just enough to send him over the edge. He came hard in his trousers. "Sherlock, you little shit!" he smirked. "You made me come in my pants!"

Sherlock pulled back just enough to rest his head on John's sweating brow. He felt his front become damp as John yelled. He blushed a deep red; he hadn't meant to do _that_ to John, only to snog him senseless. "I...I...I'm so sorry John...I didn't...I am sorry," he mumbled out.

"Sorry? Don't be sorry." John pulled Sherlock back into another passionate embrace, pulling his head down. "You're gorgeous," he murmured.

Sherlock blushed again and let his head be pulled down. "Thank you." he whispered out, holding John back in the same manner.

John started biting Sherlock's ear lobe. "You are the sexiest man I have ever had the pleasure to meet." He knew Sherlock was close to the edge. While still biting his ear, John added the final touch, ensuring Sherlock would orgasm; grabbing his bulge.

Sherlock took a heavy breath and felt the white hot heat sneak up behind him. John's hand was just so...mind blowing in more ways than one. He felt his erection stiffen as he came. The throbbing intensified as he was on his end; he felt his knees go weak and rested heavily on John, his frame trembling. His eyes were closed and he was panting on John's shoulder. His pants felt heavy and lagged down but he didn't care. He only wanted to bask in his after math with John holding him.

John hugged him for a long time. He figured this was the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, that Sherlock had to ride it out. He kissed Sherlock's cheek and whispered, "I love you…so much…"

Sherlock shivered when John kissed him on the cheek. He sighed contently as John just held him upright, occasionally rocking them side to side in a rhythmic motion that was making him drowsy. "I have romantic feelings for you too, John." He wanted to tell him that he loved him, but that was too much risk for the situation he was in, exposing himself was always a weakness.

"Me too, Sherlock…me too." John pulled down Sherlock's head to kiss him on the forehead. Seeing that Sherlock looked exhausted, he put his arm around the waist of his consulting detective. He led Sherlock up the stairs and into John's bedroom. There, he lay him down on the bed. "Do you want a change of clothes?" he whispered in Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock fell onto the bed in a heap with John following. "Are you?" he whispered taking John's soft hand.

"Probably," John replied quietly. "But, I can wait a little longer if you want." He took a piece of Sherlock's hair and started playing with it.

"I might fall asleep though," he replied, yawning. "Could you get me a pair of clothes?" he asked, curling up onto John's lap.

"Sure," John said with a small grin. He slowly got up and went into Sherlock's room. He stood and stared at the battleground that had remained untouched since Sherlock went into the hospital. He glanced over all of the destruction. How could Sherlock bring himself to do this? John's insides cried, but he moved swiftly over to the bed and pulled out a new shirt and pair of pants out of the pile that had been haphazardly thrown about the room. He quickly got out and closed the door, hoping to make it help him forget about what was behind it. He entered his bedroom quietly to find Sherlock half-asleep. He smiled and put the clothes on the end of the bed. He then walked over to his dresser, pulled out a new pair of boxers and then opened another drawer and pulled out some sweatpants. He went into the bathroom to get changed and cleaned up a little. He pulled off his sweaty shirt and threw it into the laundry basket. He then proceeded to take off his trousers and boxers. As he took off his boxers, he looked at the mess he made. He smirked and whispered to himself, "Damn you, Sherlock." He threw them into the laundry basket, took a towel and wiped up around his member, pulled on his clean pair of boxers, and then his sweatpants. He didn't bother to put on a shirt, because he just didn't want to. He walked back over to his bedroom, and climbed into bed next to Sherlock. He practically fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Sherlock heard John's rustling and as he opened his eye not more than a centimeter to see John stark naked in the middle of the room. He blushed as he watched John so elegantly clean himself and couldn't help but whimpered softly at the sight. He quickly shut his eye when John turned around and flopped on the bed carelessly. As soon as he did, Sherlock proceed to get up to change as well wincing as his wounds pulled on his healing flesh. He grabbed the clothes John so kindly picked out for him and sneaked out into the hall to change. He closed the door gently behind him so that he would not wake his John. Once in the hall he got changed quickly, closing his eyes tightly so that he would not have to see his words of truth. He was a coward he knew, for not even being able to see his own fault, for leaving John when he needed them most, for not being able to tell John he loved him back. After getting his new fresh set of clothing on, he stealth fully waltzed back into the room and slide into his side of the bed, sighing in content as the warmth of both the cotton and John encased him.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock when he laid back down on the bed. His consulting detective, so torn and tired. John hummed a soft lullaby into Sherlock's curls. He slowly closed his eyes and kissed Sherlock's forehead. Then he whispered, "My sweet Sherlock." He sighed and circled one of his fingers on the nape of Sherlock's neck. "My precious Sherlock."

* * *

**Note: **The end of this chapter will end up in the beginning of the next chapter so those who don't want all the frick frack don't miss anything super important.

I know it ends kind of weird, but it's the best I could do for now.

So yeah...smut! There will be something even steamier in the coming weeks so be prepared for that.


	6. Chapter 6

John pulled down Sherlock's head to kiss him on the forehead. Seeing that Sherlock looked exhausted, he put his arm around the waist of his consulting detective. He led Sherlock up the stairs and into John's bedroom. There, he lay him down on the bed. "Do you want a change of clothes?" he whispered in Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock fell onto the bed in a heap with John following. "Are you?" he whispered taking John's soft hand.

"Probably," John replied quietly. "But, I can wait a little longer if you want." He took a piece of Sherlock's hair and started playing with it.

"I might fall asleep though," he replied, yawning. "Could you get me a pair of clothes?" he asked, curling up onto John's lap.

"Sure," John said with a small grin. He slowly got up and went into Sherlock's room. He stood and stared at the battleground that had remained untouched since Sherlock went into the hospital. He glanced over all of the destruction. How could Sherlock bring himself to do this? John's insides cried, but he moved swiftly over to the bed and pulled out a new shirt and pair of pants out of the pile that had been haphazardly thrown about the room. He quickly got out and closed the door, hoping to make it help him forget about what was behind it. He entered his bedroom quietly to find Sherlock half-asleep. He smiled and put the clothes on the end of the bed. He then walked over to his dresser, pulled out a new pair of boxers and then opened another drawer and pulled out some sweatpants. He went into the bathroom to get changed and cleaned up a little. He pulled off his sweaty shirt and threw it into the laundry basket. He then proceeded to take off his trousers and boxers. As he took off his boxers, he looked at the mess he made. He smirked and whispered to himself, "Damn you, Sherlock." He threw them into the laundry basket, took a towel and wiped up around his member, pulled on his clean pair of boxers, and then his sweatpants. He didn't bother to put on a shirt, because he just didn't want to. He walked back over to his bedroom, and climbed into bed next to Sherlock. He practically fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Sherlock heard John's rustling and as he opened his eye not more than a centimeter to see John stark naked in the middle of the room. He blushed as he watched John so elegantly clean himself and couldn't help but whimpered softly at the sight. He quickly shut his eye when John turned around and flopped on the bed carelessly. As soon as he did, Sherlock proceed to get up to change as well wincing as his wounds pulled on his healing flesh. He grabbed the clothes John so kindly picked out for him and sneaked out into the hall to change. He closed the door gently behind him so that he would not wake his John. Once in the hall he got changed quickly, closing his eyes tightly so that he would not have to see his words of truth. He was a coward he knew, for not even being able to see his own fault, for leaving John when he needed them most, for not being able to tell John he loved him back. After getting his new fresh set of clothing on, he stealth fully waltzed back into the room and slide into his side of the bed, sighing in content as the warmth of both the cotton and John encased him.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock when he laid back down on the bed. His consulting detective, so torn and tired. John hummed a soft lullaby into Sherlock's curls. He slowly closed his eyes and kissed Sherlock's forehead. Then he whispered, "My sweet Sherlock." He sighed and circled one of his fingers on the nape of Sherlock's neck. "My precious Sherlock."

* * *

Sherlock once settled in comfortably, which was almost instantaneous, as John cradled him in into the land of the sleeping. He dreamed of John and himself around the flat, laughing and giggling high after a good case, or them together in one another's arms curled up on the couch watching crap telly. He felt himself sigh out of content as they were very pleasant dreams indeed.

Suddenly, the scene changed. He was no longer in the kitchen nor the hall or even the living room, but in his own room. He stood in the middle of it, still trashed from his previous outrage of emotion. The bed thrown to the wall, covering the very large dents in the pale wallpaper, his dresser was torn and scratched, finger nails marks visible. He swallowed thickly, had he really done all this? Guilt welled up in his chest, he didn't mean to do this, and he was scared, afraid, and angry. He took a staggering step back and heard a piece of glass shatter. He looked down expecting to see his own form on the ground, lying in his own blood.

However, he found a much more of sights; John Watson was the one who took his place. His eyes went wide with fear as he gazed upon the doctor, he couldn't look away. John's skin was yellow, that of an old musty candle that was left in the attic for far too long. He looked pasty, as if his skin its self was made of wax. John's eyes were the color of his own, making his nightmare a reality. His shirt at been discarded and in place of Sherlock's scars of red, black angry burn marks stared back at him. He tried to walk over to John but his feet seemed to be glued to the hardwood floors.

"Sherlock," John called out. "Sherlock," he called again, stronger. The detective opened his mouth to reassure John that he was here, but alas words ceased to flow.

The pitch black burns that were on John's skin began to bubble, as if a fire source was held above them. John groaned out in pain, as the boiling of his flesh intensified; he screamed when his skin began to run down his sides, leaving trails of cooling wax along them. As sudden as it came it was gone but merely replaced as the words seeped red wax, as if it was blood. John cried out to Sherlock screaming his name out before the seeping wax began to corrode his other flesh, making the holes bigger by the moment. Sherlock was frozen all he could do was watch John suffer before him, smell the burning hair and skin of John that lingered in the air and hear John's yells that were all angry words toward him.

"Sherlock look at what you did to me?! Not that _you_ would care anyway would you FREAK!" John spat out malevolently, "Think I'm so kind of experiment do you? Well, you're the experiment Sherlock! Just. Look. At. You," he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Look at your helpless self with no friends no anyone! That's what you'll always be Sherlock! Alone! You don't deserve me or anyone's time of day you monster! Nothing but a low life addict is what you are! Incapable of love!" John seethed though his gritted teeth

Sherlock stood still as he watched John melt away into a puddle of human smelling wax. He was frozen with fear and although he couldn't speak or make a sound he was screaming 'I'm sorry, please forgive me.' over and over again. He watched the puddle of John steam for a moment before cooling completely, and with a final touch the words 'You are a fraud Sherlock Holmes. -JW' were carved into the red-pink wax of what used to be John. He could still hear John's angry hateful words ringing in his ears, and every time he closed his eyes he saw the seven words of truth before him. John Watson was right in all he said.

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" John screamed trying to wake Sherlock up. The taller man was tossing and turning and mumbling 'I'm so sorry, John.' He was shivering in his sleep until he finally screamed out in terror. "Sherlock! Wake up! Please wake up! Sherlock listen to me! Whatever is going on inside your head it's a dream. Wake up, for God's sake!" He was on the verge of tears. He knew exactly what was coming next.

Sherlock gasped with a start sitting upright within seconds and scrambling to get away from whatever was yelling at him. With his vision blurred he fell right of the bed, hitting the cool wood with a loud thud. His hair was plastered to his alabaster skin that was slicked with sweat. All his clothes were stuck to him and his breathing was a heavy wheezing. He was turned into a puddle of babbling goo shooting off apologizes to John in hot rushes of air.

John quickly jumped out of bed to Sherlock's aide. "Sherlock? Sherlock, are you alright? You were just having a nightmare." He held Sherlock close. "It's okay, love. I'm here for you and I will _always_ be here for you." He held Sherlock for a very long time, until he stopped shivering.

Sherlock fell into the embrace, his body was beyond exhausted and John was so warm. "Ja-John." he whispered out after a while. "I sa-saw yo-you..!" He burst into tears, he hadn't meant to, but that 'dream' was the worst he had ever had. He sobbed out in hysterics hiccupping here and there as he attempted to speak, but merely broke down again. "You...sa-said I-I" he wailed out before collapsing in a fit of tears again.

"Whatever I said, whatever I did, it was all a dream. I would never say those things to you." John held Sherlock close to his chest. He felt himself cry a silent tear. He started humming a soft song, hoping to reduce Sherlock's pain.

Outside, a storm was brewing, the heavy down pour rattling the roof as the rain pattered on the metal. Wind was whipping against the flat, howling as it did. The dark room was illuminated with a clash of lightning, making the two men's shadows appear as suddenly as they came to be gone once again. The booming roar of thunder rumbled over them, loud and deep, making Sherlock yelp with fear, and jumping out of John's embrace and bracing his trembling frame against the wall. He could hear the voice of John mixed with the bellowing of the intense thunder making him shake with fear. He couldn't see John not only because it was dark but also because flashes of John's melting body vividly came before his eyes. "John! No I-I'm so -s Sorry!" He yelled out in attempt to keep the fake John to stay. "Don't leave me! Please I ...I need you! I'm sorry I'll be better!" he shouted to no one in reality. The fake John merely answered with angry remarks and called him a hoax. Sherlock felt his chest collapsing, each breath he took felt as it would be his last, and he gulped for air that would simply not enter his lungs. "I!" He cried out before trying to intake a breath that failed over and over again. His heavy labored breathing left him gasping for air; his eyes were wide and fearful, that of a strangled man who was trying to pry off their choker. "Can..t breathe " he yelled breathlessly before clawing with his own two bare hands at his throat begging it open. "John, make it stop!" he weeped, as he felt tears run down his face. He was afraid even more so then during the Baskerville case. He wanted John to make it better like he always did, "please John!" He begged his voice becoming rawer and hoarser by the second.

John ran over to Sherlock and hugged him. "Sherlock, I'm right here and I'm not going to leave you. Listen to me, whatever you think I'm saying to you, I'm not. I love you and I would never say such hurtful things to you." John was scared. He had only ever seen Sherlock like this once, during Baskerville, but this was far worse. He didn't want to lose Sherlock and he did not want to make another trip to the hospital tonight. He too started crying as he hugged Sherlock tightly. "Sherlock, please hear me," he said as his tears fell to the hardwood floor. "Please..."

Sherlock felt his hitch as John called his name and cradled him. The small change in breath caused his hyperventilation to go out of pattern, allowing him to take a full breath of air. He gasped loudly, trying to take in as much as the cool air as possible, breathing was no longer boring to him needless to say. "Ja-on!" he panted out heavily, his words broken and desperate.

John held Sherlock even tighter. "I'm here. Don't worry I'm not going to leave you." He pulled back a little bit to look into Sherlock's eyes that looked ravaged and damaged from the nightmare. "Sherlock, look at me...it was only a dream. You scared the crap out of me. Don't do that! I was worried I'd have to take you to the hospital again."

Sherlock's gaze fell to the floor at John's scolding, his breathing at least calmed down somewhat but he was incredibly vulnerable and tried. "I-I'm sorry to have burdened you John. I am incorrigible it would seem." he whispered to the floor, a tear falling to the wood making a small puddle. He curled up on himself so that he would no longer continue to shiver as violently as he was

John followed Sherlock down to the floor, wrapping an arm around him. "Shh...don't say that." He kissed Sherlock's forehead and wiped away the tears with his thumb. "Are you a bit better now?"

Sherlock looked up at him with his matted down lashes that were thicker than usual. "I..I don't know." he answered unsurely, perplexed by what exactly he was feeling at the moment. He knew he hurt all over, physically and emotionally wasted, and the fact it was exceptionality painful to talk, making his voice deeper than normal and it was as scratchy as sandpaper it seemed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **Slight NSFW towards the end of chapter.

* * *

John thought for a minute. "How about something to lift your spirits a little? I know! You and I...bubble bath." John tried to smile a little, hoping his idea would brighten Sherlock's mood a little bit.

Sherlock looked at him, wide eyed; he had never had a bubble bath before, let alone with another person, not even Mycroft when they were younger. Oh, how he wanted to say yes, but he was nervous about his body and John's seeing it. "I...I would love to John." he said blushing a deep red at what he just implied, the two of them naked in a tub, alone, was all he could think of besides the fact John would have to see his ugly scars.

John smiled warmly and took Sherlock's hand, helping him up off the cold hardwood floor. He led Sherlock into the bathroom and started running the faucet. He grabbed some soap for the bubbles from under the sink and poured it into the steaming hot water.

Sherlock walked into the bathroom unsurely. John, noticing his uneasiness, asked "Sherlock why don't you wait in the bedroom while I draw the bath?" He offered softly. Sherlock was grateful for this intrusion as he could collect himself mentally for their next step in the relationship. He heard shuffling from the other side of the closed door and was immediately curious. A moment later, John emerged from the bathroom with a love struck smile across his face. The doctor extended a hand to Sherlock, which the detective took eagerly. John swung open the door for Sherlock to see what he had done. Sherlock stood awe struck in the door frame taking in the scene. The bathtub was steaming with warm water, the bubbled atop of it crackling softly in the background. He could see the steam come off of the bath allowing the alluring scent of the bubble bath, which smelt of honey and apricot fill the air. John had placed eleven candles around the bathroom, all light, to give a romantic but slightly private look to it. The shadows of the various objects in room were being cast behind themselves. His doctor had also had the clever idea to set up an old radio that was playing soft, comforting, classical music in the background to fill the air. Sherlock was shocked; no one had ever done anything of this magnitude to make him feel better before. He starred at John not knowing what to say, his mouth partially agape as he was bewildered by the man knows as John Watson.

John giggled a little at the look of awe on Sherlock's face. He figured no one had done anything of this nature for him. "Well, what do you think? Do you like it?" He closed the door to the bathroom, sealing this private moment between him and Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled genuinely at John, "I love it John, I love..." He blushed and covered his mouth he was about to say 'I love you.' but that would mean that if this didn't work out, it would be harder to get out. "I love it." he finished lamely. He stepped forward into John's space, and lowered his head to place a soft innocent kiss to John's full lips. After a moment, he pulled back just enough to ghost his hot breath of John's now wet lips, "thank you." he said softly as if it were a secret. He stepped back a small step so that they could have some space to undress. He noticed John eagerly got out of his clothes and fold them up like his pants on the mantle. John pulled off his trousers and folded them on the counter. John was stark naked in front of him, completely at ease before he eyed the detective up and down. Sherlock blushed a deep red at John's rashness, how was he supposed to do this? He was so ashamed at what he did to himself two days prior. "John ca- could you maybe get in first? And…uh…close your eyes too." he squeaked out completely embarrassed by the way he was acting. He heard John chuckle warmly before the sound of water moving was filling the room with the music. He looked around to check that he was in fact closing his eyes, sighing before slowly removing his clothes. Taking his pants off first and they pooled around his feet before he stepped out of them fully. Next was his shirt, he painstakingly took his time undoing each button, dread filling him with each passing moment. Once all unbuttoned, he looked ahead and let his shirt drop to the ground, the small buttons clicking as they hit the floor.

When John got in the bathtub, he sighed at the warmth and shut his eyes to obey Sherlock's wishes for some privacy. He waited until he felt and heard the water around him shift. Sherlock had slid into the tub carefully, trying to cover up most of his body embarrassingly. "You don't need to be embarrassed, Sherlock. I recall I saw you half-naked at Buckingham Palace a while ago." He chuckled deeply and blushed a bright red.

"I'm just not used to this," he said softly, looking at the bubbles around him instead of at John. He had brought his legs up to his stomach, trying to hide the words that stared back at him and also to hide his nether region, as he knew John hadn't seen them before nor had anyone else. He swallowed thickly as he was very nervous, the warm scent around him and music helped though, along with the hot water that seeped into his tried bones from his panic attack.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, you know," John said in a sweet voice. "Everybody has their little imperfections." He pointed to the scar on his shoulder. "Not many people get to see this. I try to keep it away from the eyes of others. I'm a bit ashamed of it, I must say. It was my fault. But just because it might have been my fault, doesn't mean that I never forgave myself for what I had done." He looked into Sherlock's sad eyes. "Accepting and forgiving are the first steps to understanding your mistake. I might add, that my mistake saved many men in the long run. Men who were able to return home to their wives and children. I saved them by taking a bullet to the shoulder. A scar for many men to live." He took Sherlock's hand and outstretched the man's arm. "These scars are merely nothing. What caused those scars was pain, sure I'll give you that. But do you have any idea how many lives you saved? That sniper would have killed me. And those other men that were after Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, they could've killed them. You came home to find me miserable, but I was alive. Along with the others. Was your mistake a mistake? Not in my eyes. And then you swooped back in to save me. You saved my life, Sherlock. And for that I can never repay you."

Sherlock looked up, tears of happiness filling in his eyes, and one thing on his mind. John. How could he get anymore perfect? Always knowing what to say to make him feel better. He pulled himself closer to the other so that he was sitting in between John's outstretched legs. He looked up at John, his face softened as he held John's gaze. "I...John, thank you." He couldn't keep it from the other any longer. He bit his lip out of nervousness before taking a deep breath ready to admit what needed to be said; "John. I love you," he said a smiling playing at his lips. "I love you," he repeated, only softer.

John flushed and smiled. He didn't think it before, that Sherlock loved him. He knew Sherlock felt something and that he was too afraid to say anything too serious or anything that he might regret later, but now that the truth was revealed, he was left feeling fluttery inside. Sherlock Holmes truly did love him. John took both of the pale man's hands into his own. "I love you too, Sherlock Holmes. With every beat of my heart." John smiled more brightly than he ever had. From Sherlock, it was almost like he had asked him to marry him. "I love you too." They shared a beautiful moment of staring into each other's loving eyes. Finally, John spoke up softly. "I want to kiss and wash away your scars. Will that be okay with you?"

Sherlock nodded softy not ever breaking the spell between them. "Yes that's okay, but will you wash my..." He blushed; was he really asking for this? He had dreamed of this request for ages, always on his mind even on the best of cases. "…My locks?" he asked quietly, looking guilty.

John giggled a little. "You want me to wash your hair?" Sherlock nodded again, which made John giggle even more. "Why yes I'd be glad to." He reached over and grabbed a washcloth sitting on the edge of the bathtub. He extended Sherlock's arm again, and wet the cloth. He hovered the cloth over to wounds. "It's going to sting a little bit. I promise I won't hurt you."

Sherlock nodded, he trusted John that he wasn't going to hurt him. He watched fascinated as the good doctor set to work on his wounds, taking his time in caressing them gently. On one particular one he cringed, it was deeper and rawer then he once thought. He pulled back a moment out reflex but after wards crawled right back to John so that he could resume.

John carefully cleansed each of the wounds on Sherlock's body, giving all of them that special doctor's touch. Once he had finished he asked, "So now you want me to wash your hair?" He giggled and pulled over the shampoo and conditioner from the side of the tub.

Sherlock eagerly nodded, eyes glinting in anticipation. He turned around so that his back was resting upon John's broad chest, still nestled in between his legs. He felt his nerves pick up as his guilty pleasure was about to become true. His hair was sensitive, overly so, the slightest movement of his curls could have him painfully aroused if not careful in the way it was touched. But he _wanted_ John to run his hands through it; he yearned for John's touch.

John dipped Sherlock's hair slowly into the warm water, and massaged his scalp. He let his fingers circle around in various locations on Sherlock's head. Soft moaning came from the taller man as John carefully touched his hair. John brought Sherlock's head up, lathered his hands with shampoo and rubbed it in carefully to his luscious locks.

Sherlock moaned softly as John thoroughly massaged his curls, pulling them up and wrapping them around his fingers to fall back down again. He then felt the doctor make small circular motions on the back of his head, making him whimper and tremble. Passion and pleasure began to flow though him, blood traveling straight to his groins. He could feel himself grow harder with each movement of the other, lust traveling from the top of his head down his spine. After a few minutes of whimpers and moans from him he was throbbing painfully, he couldn't fix it at the moment or John would know about his problem. It was embarrassing enough that by the simple act of a hair massage he was very aroused, let alone have John know of his problem. At least the layer of bubbles had covered his lower half relatively well he thought.

John rinsed Sherlock's hair in the water, making sure to get all the soap out. Once his locks were free of soap, John lathered his hands with conditioner to make Sherlock's soft curls even softer. His fingers caressed Sherlock's scalp, dancing lightly along the roots of his hair, curling the tips around his fingers slightly. A louder eruption of moans came from Sherlock's mouth. John didn't really know if this was a normal thing or not. He calmly and quietly asked, "Are you alright, love?"

Sherlock froze; he hadn't meant to be so loud, but John's hands in his hair was beyond erotic. He bit his lip roughly as his erection twitched from John now massaging counter clockwise. It was likely he would come soon without even having to be touched. After all it hadn't helped to think that they were in a bathtub together stark naked with romantic music and candlelight. Sherlock gripped the sides of the bathtub in order to keep some composure, could he tell John? Of course he _could_, but the real problem would be what would he think about him then? "I uh..." he mumbled out, ashamed. "I don't know if I should say," he said in a breathless whisper, voice hoarse from lust.

John looked a bit confused at first, but then noticed the head of Sherlock's erection poking out of the bubbles. "Oh..." He giggled a little embarrassingly. "That's what you were afraid to tell me about." John tipped Sherlock's hair back into the water, rinsing the conditioner out. When he brought Sherlock's head back up out of the water, he asked, "Now, what are we going to do about that?" He chuckled and kissed the middle of Sherlock's forehead.


End file.
